


Comparison is the Work of the Devil

by sohydrated



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Lambert (The Witcher), M/M, Repressed Feelings, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, also feat., banging it out, lambert's attitude, lambert's low self-esteem, listen i agree geralt is normally a bottom but this needed to happen, no beta we die like men, no romo but lots of attraction and mutual respect (tm), pre-games timeline, this is ooc because they use their words (sometimes)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohydrated/pseuds/sohydrated
Summary: Under all that prickly attitude and smart remarks, Lambert spends most of his time kicking himself for not being as good as other witchers--namely Geralt. Geralt thinks that's bullshit.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 37
Kudos: 166





	Comparison is the Work of the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine this as taking place somewhere after Geralt rescuing Duny and invoking the law of surprise, but before he collects Ciri. So they are younger, both still accomplished witchers though. This was not supposed to be as soft as it is but man, Lambert's a sad guy.

It was a surprisingly hot day for autumn, Vesemir called it an "elven summer", the last wave of warmth before the true chill sets in. The sun baked the dried leaves that still clung to the sparsely covered trees of the valley forest, and vapors raised off the packed dirt paths with their patches of dying, brown grass. They didn't get a lucky heatwave like this every year, which meant it was time to tend to the last minute needs around the keep. Eskel pulled rank and took to scouting the surrounding valley for late forktail migrations. There shouldn't be any, even with the warm front, most travel south before the trees can start dropping leaves. So more likely, Eskel was probably fishing in the stream or taking his newest pet goat out to graze, the whoreson. 

Lambert, on the other hand, was hefting some large stones over to the western wall, where the years had crumbled it to only its steel rebar frame. His new black and red jerkin and swords were set aside before noon, and now with the blazing sun overhead he cursed himself for wearing a dark undershirt as well. He ripped it over his head and tossed in in the direction of his things, and uncapped his waterskin to drink. Pouring some cool water into his free hand, he wet his face and hair, trying to pay no mind as he felt the beginnings of a receding hairline. Great, practically still new to the path and he was showing signs of aging. In another thirty years he'll probably be as haggard as Vesemir, he thought with some bitterness. Before he could get himself too worked up about his appearance, he set to work placing the stones into the frame of the wall. 

By the time the sun was past the mountains, Lambert was thoroughly filthy; caked head to toe in lyme dust that had turned to mud, then partially dried and flaked away. Rather than put all the work into bringing water up for a bath, he followed the stream down to where it ran freely over a steep slope, creating a light waterfall. He had the forethought to bring a towel with him, but was too impatient to walk the flight of stairs to his room and grab a set of clothes. Finally peeling off his trousers and underclothes, Lambert sighed as he stepped under the cool water, the stream below him turning clouded and gray with the dust rushing off him. He scrubbed his face and hair to get the worst of it off, then running his hands over his torso, working the grit out from the curls of his chest and past his navel. He would take a real bath later, but his sensitive nose wouldn't let him get away with not rinsing off the day's hard work. 

Stepping out from the water, he toweled off and shoved his feet back into his boots as he wrapped the towel around his waist and climbed up the slope back to the keep. Only stopping to grab his jerkin and swords, he entered the main hall with a beeline toward his bunk. The scent of a roast with seasoned vegetables hit him as he came closer. 

"Took you long enough! We were going to eat without you!" Eskel jabbed as he raised his mug in greeting from the table. Vesemir was pulling the last of the food off the fire, his back turned to them. 

"That's never stopped you before. Besides, while you were hunting for non-existent forktails, some of us were doing hard work." He shot back, throwing down his gear and moving to take off his boots so he could dress. 

"Yeah, well, we figured we would finally all eat together," a smooth voice said as it came up behind him. Lambert's head snapped up in surprise. Geralt was dressed in his typical armor, boots caked in dried mud that extended up his calves. His hair was pulled back, the typically short shaved sides bushy from being ignored on the Path, with his beard to match. He looked well, a bit lean perhaps, but the same Geralt he'd known all his life.

"Geralt! Good of you to finally grace us with your presence." He said, but without venom as he stood to grip the Wolf's forearm in greeting. Geralt smiled and they hugged, their first embrace since the previous spring when they both set back out on the Path. Lambert breathed in, smelling sweat, horse, and the spiced musk that was uniquely Geralt, and was suddenly aware that he was still in his towel. He pulled away quickly. 

"You stink, did you just get in?" He turned and pulled underclothes and loose trousers out from his trunk, sliding on smallclothes underneath his towel before dropping it, trying to ignore some sort of unease he was feeling. 

"Yes, and he was kind enough to bring in a fresh deer with him. Now come eat." Vesemir said, loading his plate.

Throwing on his pants and shirt, Lambert walked over to the table where Eskel was waiting with a mug of ale. He slid it over before tucking into his dinner. Lambert took a sip before cutting himself a slice of the roast, admiring its deep red center. 

"Mmmm, still breathing, just how I like it." His mouth watered as he took his first bite, eyes rolling back. Geralt had only just sat down next to him, choosing to pick some wine from the kitchen rather than the ale the other men were having. He poured the dry red into a goblet and moved it aside as he reached for the food, crossing right over Lambert. 

"Boarding house reach, much?" He griped, nudging him with his shoulder. "You're getting between me and my venison."

"Missed you too, Lambert." Geralt said, rolling his eyes. He sat down, his leg almost flush with Lambert's as he began to eat. That unease in his stomach ticked up again, but he didn't pull away, rather choosing to shove a hunk of roasted potato into his mouth.

The group ate in comfortable silence, all of them too hungry to try and strike up a conversation just yet. The anxious energy that Lambert felt from his close proximity to Geralt melted away as the feeling of familiarity set in. Wintering is a blessing and a curse for him, on the one hand he often feels like a child again, being the youngest of the group he never feels like he can get out from under anyone's thumb. This, of course, is compounded by Papa Vesemir lecturing him about his _witcherly_ values and responsibilities. On the other hand, when life on the Path is nothing but uncertainty, danger, and being othered by every person you meet, being with the other wolves is like a balm for his fried nerves. There is no one who gets his struggle better, no place safer, than with them. As he watched Eskel try to subtly unbuckle his belt to make room for all he ate, he laughed out loud at him. It was nice to be back, all things considered. 

\--

After dinner, Eskel and Lambert cleaned up while Vesemir gave Geralt a much-needed trim. Lambert brought over a pint for him and leaned against the table studying Vesemir's handiwork. 

"You should leave the beard, it'll soften the blow of having to look at his whole face." He picked as he took a long sip of his ale. Geralt's brow furrowed, though he kept his eyes shut as Vesemir took the straight razor to the shorter hairs above his temple. 

"You'll have the whole winter to get under each other's skin, can't we have one quiet night?" Vesemir sounded very much like an exhausted parent, not actually annoyed. 

"Actually, I have been thinking about keeping a bit of a beard while I winter, easier to keep clean here than on the road." Geralt said, opening one eye to look at them both. 

"So be it. Now Lambert, go make yourself busy. I'm trying to focus." Vesemir shooed him off with a wave. 

"Fine by me, I'm gonna go get wasted in the tub. Don't come looking for me."

"Don't drown." Geralt deadpanned.

"My dear Geralt, if I die it will be doing what I love. There is no greater honor." With that he turned and left. He could hear Vesemir telling Geralt to stop laughing and sit still, and he grinned to himself.

\--

It doesn't take long for him to get restless, three weeks in and he was beginning to feel trapped. Even with the constant toil of repairing the castle, the nip in the air promised that this would be a notoriously long Kaedweni winter. The reality of being stuck in one place for months always hit him hard, despite this being his routine since he set out on the Path as a young man. He had begun distilling his famous homemade brew, to stock up and keep him mellowed out once the snow rolled in, but that was still a ways off from being ready to drink. In the meantime, he had been trying to pick fights to burn off this excess energy. 

Unfortunately, everyone knew what he was doing, and wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He had been trying to approach Vesemir for a good spat, to watch his face wrinkle with irritation like it only ever does with him. He was thinking about the perfect argument fodder--the time he killed a man for skimping on his payment? The time Berengar embarrassed the old man in front of everyone in the dining hall? There was so much good material to choose from. As he approached where Vesemir was in the kitchen, he saw that he was not alone. Geralt was with him, and they were engaged in a lively debate about the best way to break a leshen mark on villagers. Vesemir was smiling as he recited an old adage about banishing the man to beat the monster. Geralt was nodding enthusiastically. 

"That's what I did! I told them the ealdorman had to be excommunicated from the village so the leshy could be truly killed. They all agreed, and I watched him leave before I set off into the woods." He paused to take a sip of his drink.

"So I track the damn thing, break the totems, deal with what feels like an army of wolves before I get to face the beast. Then, after a good fight, I set it on fire and it feels like it's about to die. Imagine how pissed I was when it disappeared! It turns out that the elder came back, he forgot his fucking pipe!" 

Vesemir let out a deep, hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling with mirth. He slapped Geralt on the shoulder, who was looking proud. Lambert scoffed at the scene, the two had an absolutely disgusting father and son relationship that irritated him to no end. It was no secret that Geralt was seen as the star pupil of the school, with the "gift" of his extra mutations as proof of their faith in him. However, he had gravitated toward Vesemir as a mentor and friend in his later years. How someone could overlook the horrible things that he had done to them, to untold numbers of children, was beyond him. He may be a bastard now, but kids were innocent parties in all of this,  _ he _ had been an innocent. He was seething from his own thoughts, and stormed back out into the courtyard. He saw Eskel there, humming while he tended to his ridiculous goat. 

"Hey" he called from across the courtyard. Eskel didn't even look up from grooming Lil' Bleater, still cooing at her while he brushed out her coarse fur. 

"HEY!" Still nothing. 

"HEY ESKEL!" He shouted, impatient. He felt a little satisfied to see Eskel look up with a frown.

"Gods, what is it brat?" Lambert sauntered over to him, feeling his muscles twitch with anticipation. 

"Spar with me. You're looking soft already and unlike you, I'm trying to keep in peak condition." 

Eskel huffed and the undamaged side of his face turned upward. "If getting your ass kicked is all you wanted you coulda asked." He stood up and shook off the fur that had collected on him, and rolled his shoulders. He tapped Lil' Bleater on the backside and she dutifully walked off, out of the way. They walked to the middle of the courtyard and took places opposite to each other. 

Lambert was ready, his steel sword drawn. Eskel, however, was standing calm and made no move to grab his sword. 

"Let's go!" Lambert shouted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

"I'll let you make the first move." Eskel invited. Lambert's eyes narrowed, making the first move was always a trap, but he didn't want to waste time going back and forth when he could feel his anger humming inside him. He charged at Eskel, and feigned left as Eskel readied a quen sign. Before he could cast, Lambert landed a blow on Eskel's right side with the flat of his blade, on the ribs. He grinned. 

"First point to me!" He called as he rolled out of the way of an oncoming swing. Eskel had finally drawn his blade and looked determined, his eyes narrow slits as he tracked Lambert's movements. Lambert had circled him, looking for an opportunity to strike and keeping his sword ready to parry. His attention was pulled as Eskel's goat gave a shrill scream, he turned minutely. In that brief moment, Eskel lunged, landing a hit on the inside of his thigh before knocking him off balance. Lambert cursed and tucked into a roll, landing with one knee down. 

"Stay focused, little wolf!" He teased as he easily stepped back to put distance between them. 

"Not fair, that was goat interference!" He replied as he stood and readied himself. 

"Do you think a fiend is going to play fair if you get distracted in the fight? Keep your eye on your target." 

The chiding reminded him too much of a Vesemir lecture, he was starting to get properly annoyed. He cast a quick quen and rushed Eskel from the left, planning on using the burst shield as a damage boost to land a serious blow. He was within two yards of him before the older witcher cast aard, breaking his shield and the combined forces sent him flying back, sliding on his back across the yard. Before he could even orient himself to what had happened, Eskel was above him, blade against his jugular, a smug look on his face. 

"I would say that I win this one, what do you think?" 

"I think that you're a fucking whoreson and that I'm going to string up that goat of yours by its hooves." He spat, wincing as he sat up. Only to be sent back to the ground with a boot on his chest.

"Listen asshole, don't blame Lil' Bleater for your shit fight. You clearly have your mind somewhere else." He offered a hand out to Lambert as a show of good faith. He shoved it away and scrabbled to his feet.

"Yeah, in Toussaint sipping wine with a beautiful woman." His pride was hurt from getting his ass handed to him so readily. This happened most of the time when he sparred with Eskel. His senior just had more skill and patience than he did. 

"You know damn well beautiful women avoid us both. You'd have to be a pretty boy like Geralt to get them to look past these eyes and scars. C'mon, let's have a drink." Eskel said in his typical good nature, already heading toward the keep. 

"Ah, maybe later. I still have some work to do out here." Lambert lied. He didn't feel like company; the anxious energy still swirling just under his skin. His mind had been somewhere else, he realized, but he wasn't sure where. 

"If you say so." Eskel said with a shrug, grabbing his goat and tying her to a post closer to the doors of the keep before entering. 

Once he was inside, Lambert ripped off his jerkin and strode over to the stable, where his travel pack was at the ready. He grabbed a small brush, some oil, and a rag and sat on a bench to work on buffing out the scratches left on the jerkin from him scraping on the ground. He spent good money on this and gods damn it he was going to keep it looking nice. 

Working the oil into the leather of the jacket was calming him somewhat. The small scratches that had formed were coming out easily enough, and the focus on that took him out of his head. His breath steadied and his shoulders slouched a bit, muscles relaxing at the repetitive motion. Once he was satisfied that the scratches were fixed all that was left was to polish it out and remove the excess oil. 

He had been almost done when he looked up and saw Geralt approaching. The few weeks back at the keep had done him good, his skin looked brighter and he looked less tense. The new beard he had decided to sport was groomed well, and a few strands of hair that had gotten loose from his tie were now stuck in the bristles. He wore the same long-sleeved white shirt he always wore around the keep, with the front untied so his chest was on display. He gave a half-smile as he made eye contact with Lambert.  _ Gods, beautiful.  _ He caught himself thinking, and felt any piece of calm he had go right out the window. He looked back down to his jerkin, deciding to polish the whole thing again. 

"You're gonna go clear through the leather at that rate." Geralt commented, nodding toward his furiously polishing hand. 

"I know what I'm doing." Lambert bristled, looking up to glare at him. Except when he met Geralt's eyes, he saw something soft there, not at all the judgment that usually came along with the "care for your equipment" talk. He looked back down quickly, uncomfortable. 

"I didn't say you don't." Geralt offered, as he leaned against the wall of the stable. "What I mean is, you look tense. Eskel told me he launched you clear across the yard today." He said this casually, looking toward their mounts with little interest. 

"What of it?" He  _ was  _ tense, and had been for weeks. But right now, he was annoyed that this was being brought up. It was a sore spot of his that he wasn't the most proficient fighter, and with Geralt and Eskel being the star students of the Wolf School, it was quite apparent when they were together. He was giving himself a headache from how hard he was furrowing his brow. 

"Hey, Lambert, look at me." Geralt's voice was stern. He looked up without a second thought. 

"Whatever you're thinking, I'm not here to bust your balls. I get my ass kicked by Eskel pretty often. I just wanted to catch up, I even brought a gift." His tone had softened, and his eyes brightened with excitement as he pulled out a flask. 

Lambert let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding and tried to ignore the way his heart thudded in his chest. He set aside his armor and the polish and turned toward him.

"Hmmm, depends, whatcha bring?"

"Oh, just some white gull, this batch has extra cherry cordial. Dandelion likes it so I always have a spare bottle stashed away." He offered the flask to Lambert, who pulled a face.

"Of course he would, it's way too sweet." That didn't stop him from taking it, of course. He took a swig and hummed through the burn as it went down. Not too bad, tasted better than his hooch. 

Geralt laughed. "Yeah, sweet but will still knock you on your ass."

"Sounds just like me." He quipped, heavy sarcasm in his voice. He took another drink and passed it back to the white haired witcher. 

"Lambert, you've never been sweet a day in your life. You came out of your mom looking like you swallowed a lemon." He smiled at his own joke, giving a sidelong glance at Lambert for his reaction as he drank. 

He feigned shock, putting a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "I'll have you know I was a delight! My mom told me every day that I was a little gentleman."

"You've fallen far then, you haven't said one nice thing to me since we've been here." He joked, passing the flask back to Lambert.

He winced internally at that, it wasn't wholly a lie. They always joked around, had since Lambert was still in training, but he was hard-pressed to think of a time he had paid Geralt an actual compliment. He pushed the thought away with a drink. 

"Didn't realize you were so sensitive. You have plenty of fawning women to sing your praises, someone's gotta be here to let some air out of that big head of yours." He tried to keep the comment light, but it sounded bitter in his ears.

Geralt's brows knit together, and his mouth drew down into a small frown. 

"Lambert, what's going on here? Did I do something to wrong you, because this sounds like more than just your usual bad attitude." 

His first feeling was surprise, feeling put on the spot by the question. The more rational part of him told him that he had certainly acted like something was wrong, but it was overtaken by the usual, almost comforting rush of anger. His mouth twisted into a sneer. 

"Nothing's wrong, pretty boy. I'm just tired of you needing to be fluffed all the fucking time. There are enough people to kiss your ass, but I won't be one of them! You're not the only damn witcher in the world, and you can crawl back to your sorceress if you want to feel special!" He was shouting, he realized. Geralt was sitting there, a truly shocked look on his face at the outburst. That rational part of himself saw this and was begging him to stop making a scene, being an ass to his friend for no reason. Hell, even apologize for once. He did the only thing he was capable of--he got up to storm off. Geralt grabbed his wrist, he expected to be pulled to the ground or clocked in the face, but the hand just held him there, firm. 

"Lambert, I don't know what the fuck is going on but I've known you too damn long to take any of the shit you say when you're mad to heart." He turned the younger witcher to face him, putting the hand not holding his wrist on his shoulder. Lambert flinched like he was burned, looking anywhere but at Geralt, saying nothing. 

"Tell me what's actually going on here." Geralt's eyes were searching his face, his tone serious but not uncaring. It threw Lambert off, he wanted a fight, a few cutting words, not...whatever this was. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." He felt his ears heat, knowing he looked like a kid who had been caught doing something he shouldn't. But he really didn't know! Didn't understand the anger he was feeling or why Geralt made it flare so much. And that only made him more upset.

"Look, it's no secret how you feel about the way things panned out while I was in Cintra. I know you and Eskel joke about me being bound to Yen. Trust me, I wanted to keep out of all of this too. I-"

Lambert cut him off harshly. "What are you saying, Wolf?" 

Geralt sighed. He let go of Lambert's wrist and shoulder and threw his hands up before letting them slap back down to his sides. 

"I don't know! I feel like you're always comparing yourself to me, to the things I've done. I don't want you to. You're a damn fine witcher, Lambert. You have every reason to try and leave, cat school witchers have gone rouge enough to show it's possible. But you don't, you have honor and you work hard on the Path." He paused, running a hand along the top of his white hair, smoothing it. "And more than that," his voice was gentler now, sincere in a way it rarely was between the two of them. "when you're not trying your damn hardest to be a prick, you are a good man. So stop thinking that I'm somehow better than you, that  _ I _ think I'm better than you, because it isn't true." 

It was Lambert's turn to be shocked. this was the most Geralt had said at length in recent memory. And it was about  _ him.  _ Kind things about him. Lambert was not so self-deprecating as to think himself as a bad person, but the idea that Geralt thought him a good person, an honorable one, was overwhelming. He knew of course that he compared himself to others, Geralt especially, but listening to him bring it to light and then choose to uplift him unwound some tight coil that he held inside. Never a man to sit on his feelings, he grabbed the front of Geralt's shirt and pulled him close, crashing their mouths together with more force than he intended. He needed to be closer, now. 

Geralt made a muffled noise of surprise, and stilled. The younger witcher was suddenly very aware that this was rash, that he threw himself to Geralt the moment he showed some kindness like some sort of desperate maiden. He was about to pull away when he felt Geralt's hand come up to hold the back of his head, the other coming to rest on his hip. He returned the kiss in a much more tempered manner, working their lips together like he wanted to savor it. The thought made Lambert's head spin, he traced his tongue along Geralt's bottom lip, tasting the too-sweet white gull that was still there. Geralt met it with his tongue, and hummed as Lambert opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. He felt the rasp from Geralt's beard against his own, and part of him thought about how different it was than kissing a woman. There was no give, no pressure to lead. He was solid, attentive in a way that he had rarely experienced with a woman, or anyone really. 

Geralt was by no means the first man he had ever kissed, there had been some fumblings with men during the more lonely stretches on the Path, quick and harsh and demanding. This was so, so much better, he thought as Geralt's lips moved to the spot beneath his jaw, sucking and nipping as he pulled Lambert even closer. He worked a hand up the older witcher's shirt, feeling the raised scars from a set of claws across his hip. He followed them down to the waistband of his trousers, and dipped his fingers under, feeling the wiry hair and trailing lower. Before he could reach, Geralt pulled back, and for a split second he worried that he had crossed a line, until he saw his pupils blown wide.

"Not here, my room." Geralt rasped, already turning to go. He paused when Lambert didn't move, unsure. He drew himself closer again, to the point the younger witcher could feel his breath ghosting against his cheek. 

"I'd like to show you what I really think of you" he leaned in to nip at the shell of his ear, getting a sigh. "But only if that's what you want." He pulled back to study Lambert's face, holding his gaze with intensity. 

"Gods, yes." He was almost dazed. If someone had told him this morning that the White Wolf himself would be inviting him up to his quarters, he would have hit them for going through his adolescent journal. Yet, here he is, being led through the--blessedly empty--main hall and up the stairs to the spacious room. The hearth was already burning, and the warmth was welcome, it had been cooling outside though he didn't notice the chill until now. He grabbed Geralt by the loops in his trousers and pulled him toward the bed, mind alight with desire. However, he was pushed onto the bed by the older witcher before he could make a move. 

"Relax, we have time. Let me…" he trailed off as he removed Lambert's undershirt, kissing along his collarbone. Lambert huffed but said nothing, he was not used to intimacy that wasn't of the 'get in, get off, get out' variety. He again snaked his fingers under Geralt's tunic, encouraging him to take it off. He stepped back to do so, and despite having seen each other in states of undress a thousand times, Lambert couldn't stop himself from roving his gaze over his body. He saw the outline of his erection in his trousers, Geralt was hard already, for  _ him.  _ A rush of heat went straight to his groin, and he pulled himself into a sitting position at the edge of the bed where Geralt was standing. He kissed along the older man's stomach, wet and open-mouthed, allowing his tongue to trace along lines of muscles and scars. He undid the laces of his trousers and pulled them down along with the underclothes. Above him, he heard Geralt's breath catch in his throat as he took his cock in hand, pumping it a few times before sucking the smooth head into his mouth. Rarely had he ever been the one to please a male partner like this, usually he didn't care enough to bother. But this was  _ Geralt,  _ who apparently wanted him, for some reason. 

He pushed aside his self-consciousness to focus on making this good for him. He ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of the sensitive glans before working to swallow more of him down, hand working the remaining part of the shaft. His other hand had wrapped around the older witcher's thigh, digging into the tensing muscle. He could hear Geralt panting above him as he swallowed, and looked up. Geralt was watching him, eyes half-lidded but sharp with focus, his spit-slicked mouth open just a little, almost in awe as Lambert worked. 

Gods, the was nothing more arousing and he felt himself leak in his smallclothes, the strain of being confined in the fabric just this side of painful. He moaned around Geralt's cock, and in a flash there was a hand fisting in his short hair, his hips jerking and shoving himself further into his mouth. His throat tightened, resisting, but he willed himself to relax and kept eye contact as he swallowed him down further, until he was able to let go of the shaft and press his nose into the white curls at the base. Tears pricked his eyes but he didn't care, Geralt was looking at him, amazed and struggling to keep his eyes open as he moaned. His hand, now free, moved to press the heel of his palm against his own erection, and he hummed around Geralt's length again at the sensation, his eyes sliding closed. 

"I-fuck  _ Lambert _ -" Geralt groaned, hips twitching, rocking into his mouth. Lambert let him fuck his face, hurriedly undoing the laces of his own trousers to free himself. He wrapped a hand around his length, the whole thing slick, and shuddered. His hand was working fast, the noises Geralt was making along with the hand fisted in his hair more than enough to get him off. Hell, he imagined that he'll be getting off to this memory alone for a very long time. 

He felt himself getting close as Geralt throbbed in his mouth, and swallowed hard, encouraging him. He managed to open his eyes enough to watch him, absolutely debauched, but before he could cum Geralt pulled his head back, off of his cock with great effort. If he wasn't so mindlessly turned on, Lambert might have been embarrassed by the way he tried to follow Geralt's cock, resisting the tug in his hair to get it back into his mouth. As it was, he just stared up in confusion. 

"Get, get back on the bed. Lay down." Geralt told him, voice rough. He quickly pushed his trousers off and did as he was told. Geralt did the same and crawled onto the bed after him, kissing his way up the younger one's body until he could bring their lips together. Compared to the composure he had earlier, this kiss was animalistic, biting and demanding all of him and he had no choice but to let it. Geralt trailed his way down Lambert's neck, leaving bruising bites on the collarbone. 

"Gods, you're so fucking gorgeous. You looked so good for me, sucking me off. You could have cum right then, couldn't you?" His voice was near guttural, growling as he rutted his cock against Lambert's. He keened, wrapping his arms around the man above him, trying to get them closer. 

"I need to be inside you." Geralt groans, biting the lobe of his ear. Lambert stills, and pushes him back to look at him. 

"In case you didn't notice, I'm not some wench. Who said anything about you doing that?" Sure, he had fucked other guys, but never let them fuck him. He had assumed it would be the same now. Not that the idea of letting Geralt do that was totally unattractive…

"Have you not…?" Geralt asked, pulling back to rest on his forearms above him. His brows were drawn, showing uncertainty. Lambert looked away.

"No, just never wanted to with another guy." Fuck, this was so embarrassing! He would rather go back to having his face fucked than this. Lips pressed softly to an unmarred spot on his neck, and he felt himself settle a bit. 

"Would you want to now? We don't have to, but I would love to be the one to make you feel good in that way." Another kiss. "Besides, we can switch next time if you don't like it." 

His eyes grew wide. Next time? He hadn't been thinking that far ahead to consider that there would be more than this. He throbbed at the idea. 

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." He agreed, kissing Geralt. He pulled back and fished around in the nightstand, coming back with a vial of oil. Lambert scoffed.

"You just have that laying around?" He tried to keep the mood light despite his heart beating hard as Geralt settled between his legs. 

"Well, being here all winter means that after a while, just jerking off doesn't cut it." Geralt chuckled, removing the cork and pouring some over his fingers.

_ Well, now that's a thought _ . Lambert considered the idea, Geralt spread out, teasing himself open, pushing back on his fingers. His cock twitched. If he had known that's what he had been up to while he wintered, he might have made a move a lot sooner.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the feeling of the pad of Geralt's finger brushing against his entrance, rubbing small circles on the sensitive skin and watching his face carefully. It felt...good, the teasing strokes had him tilting his hips forward, trying to get more pressure, and Geralt allowed his finger to slip in barely breaching the ring. His pupils were so wide they were almost circular, the familiar yellow iris barely noticeable as he watched Lambert sink himself onto the digit, down until the last knuckle. Tentatively, he crooked his finger and began to build a slow rhythm and Lambert gasped as he brushed over his prostate for the first time. He leaked against his hip as Geralt moved quicker, sliding in a second finger and watching with hunger as the younger witcher screwed his eyes shut, gasping. 

"Ahh-fuck! I'm not gonna break, hurry up and fuck me!" He couldn't take the waiting, the prep not even taking that long but it felt like an eternity. He had never wanted to cum so bad in his life and every second felt like torture. 

"Relax, I'm not going anywhere." Geralt soothed, and grabbed Lambert's cock with his free hand, tugging it a few times before holding it tightly at the base. This was torture. He was going to die.

"That's the fucking problem! If you don't--mmphf!" He was cut off by Geralt surging forward, grip on his cock abandoned as he grabbed a fist full of Lambert's hair and kissed him, teeth digging into his bottom lip deliciously. He felt the fingers withdraw from him, and whined into Geralt's mouth, miserable. When he felt the slick head against his entrance however, his hands flew to grip at Geralt's shoulders. He knew just from having it in his mouth how much bigger Geralt was than two simple fingers, and he was equal parts excited and worried. Kissing down his neck, Geralt was soothing him. 

"It's okay, we're going at your pace, don't tense." He huffed a deep breath against him, and did it again. Lambert followed, willing himself to trust that Geralt knew what he was talking about. He felt the thick head begin to slide into him, popping past the initial resistance. Geralt groaned into his ear at the tightness, and the sound made him cant his hips up to get some friction on where his cock was trapped between their bodies. This made Geralt slide deeper into him, the burn and stretch a sharp contrast to the immense pleasure he was feeling. His eyes screwed shut and he willed himself to breathe evenly as he adjusted, feeling Geralt run his hand through his hair, never stopping the kisses on the side of his neck. More than the penetration, the feeling of tenderness was overwhelming to him. Geralt was treating him like a lover, and not a simple fuck. He supposed that's why the White Wolf was so well known for his sexual conquests, but it made him uneasy. 

"You don't have to do that." He grit out as he pushed himself a little further down onto Geralt's length.

"Mmm, do what?" Geralt hummed and ran his nose along Lambert's jaw. His hips were twitching with the urge to move, to fuck into the younger man with everything he had, but he held himself back and let the other set the pace. 

"Treat me...like this. We can just fuck." Lambert's eyes were open but he had turned his head to the side, looking away. 

"And how am I treating you?" Another kiss to his pulse point, a hand running down his flank, feather-light. It was too much. 

"Like I'm some paramour of yours. I know you just want to have sex. I want that, you don't have to be all nice about it." He was looking Geralt in the eyes now, brow furrowed and mouth set in a line. 

Geralt's face dropped any pretense of seduction, he moved to pull himself out of Lambert, who hooked a leg behind him and pulled him in closer. The older witcher made a surprised noise in the back of his throat. 

"Lambert, you have no idea what you're talking about. You're not just some fuck."

"What am I then, your girlfriend?" He tried to joke, rather thrown off by arguing in the position he was currently in. But well, with him he could never let it be easy. 

"Seriously?" Geralt sighed and drew himself back down closer to Lambert's face. 

"You're one of my closest friends, the few I can trust. You're my equal. You're also a damn attractive man who treats himself like shit for some reason. I've-" he paused, not breaking eye contact "I've been interested in doing this for some time, and you're telling me that you  _ think _ you know you're just a holdover? You don't know shit."

For perhaps the first time in his life, Lambert was totally speechless. His mouth was open, staring up in disbelief. It felt like his world had been knocked off-kilter with Geralt's words. A feeling he had been desperately squashing welled up inside him, one that demanded closeness and comfort. 

Geralt traced his face with one hand. "If you want to stop that's okay. Just let me go." He nodded to the leg still wrapped behind his thigh, holding him. 

"Like hell I am." He said and wrapped a hand around the back of Geralt's neck, pulling him in for a crushing kiss. He kissed him for everything he was worth, twining threads of white hair between his fingers and gripping his shoulder like a vice. Thankfully, Geralt returned the kiss in kind, slipping a hand between them to grip Lambert's erection, which had flagged a bit during the intense conversation. He moaned openly into the kiss, if he had thought of holding anything back it was gone now, the tension he had built up surging back full force. 

"Move. Now." He demanded between kisses. Geralt could only moan back as he complied, rocking into him with a slow rhythm. Propped up on his elbows he leaned his head back, groaning at the sensation. Geralt leaned forward to bite at his Adam's apple before laving his tongue over the mark. 

"Gods, you feel so good. So tight. You don't know how bad I've wanted this." His voice was a rumble against Lambert's throat, low and pleased with himself. 

"The feeling's mutual." Lambert muttered out, focused on rocking between Geralt's fist and his cock. 

Geralt growled against him and picked up his pace, angling himself to hit that sweet spot he had brushed over with his fingers. The control and patience he showed before melting away with the building pleasure. 

"Oh Gods!" Lambert was holding on for dear life, trying not to cum on the spot. Later, he might kick himself for being such an idiot and not taking Geralt up on this sooner, but right now all he could do was hang on as his vision narrowed down to only the man in front of him. 

Geralt met his gaze, looking just as glassy-eyed and undone as he felt. "I'm not, I can't-" Lambert cut him off with a kiss.

"Fuck I'm not either. It's okay, I want to feel it." He wasn't going to last, his balls already drawn up impossibly tight, aching for release. 

"Oh gods yes." Geralt moaned, giving a few erratic thrusts before spilling into the man below him. Lambert came right along with him, the feeling of being filled more than enough to tip him over the edge. He striped Geralt's hand and his stomach with his spend, gasping for breath. 

Geralt gave a few languid strokes as he leaned in and kissed him, relishing in the little noises the younger man made as he swiped his thumb over the sensitive head. After a moment, he slowly pulled himself out and laid next to Lambert on the bed. 

"I think I've gone deaf." Lambert announced, staring up at the ceiling and hearing his ears ring. 

Geralt laughed. "That good huh? It'll go away in a minute." 

"What? I can't hear you!" Lambert said loudly, and he was laughing and turned his head to look at Geralt. He grinned.

Geralt leaned in and kissed him, slow and easy, eyes half-lidded and warm as he drew back and watched Lambert's chest bounce with laughter. 

"You're gorgeous like this." He murmured. Lambert stopped and looked at him, surprise and fondness muddling in his golden eyes. 

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't know and-" 

"Hey, it's okay. As rare as an apology from you is, that's not what I'm looking for from you. Just, do you believe me now? That you're important to me?"

Lambert propped himself up on one elbow, mischievous look on his face. 

"Hmmm, I don't know. I could use more convincing. You have a real reputation as a player, you know." 

Geralt huffed out a laugh and pushed him backward, moving to roll on top of him. 

"I could do that. I've been told I'm very convincing."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I really wanted to show some love to my fave witcher because there isn't enough out there of him. Feedback required for sustenance (seriously let me know what you think because I have no idea what I'm doing).


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